Justifications and Judgments: A Modern Pride and Prejudice
by Austenfanficgal
Summary: In this modern take on Pride and Prejudice, Samantha Dawson (aka Lizzie Bennet) and William Darcy retell Jane Austen's classic story in a New England setting. She's a journalist fresh out of college and he's a CEO who certainly knows how to push her buttons. This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so hopefully you enjoy it! Feedback appreciated!
1. Prologue

**Justifications and Judgments: A Modern Pride and Prejudice**

"So, we'll set you up in Algiers next week. There's been an awful skirmish with local insurgents lately, but I'm not too concerned that the uprisings will influence our plans there. In fact, they'll likely improve our success considering the traditionalist system. And, I know you probably have concerns about their views on women, but really, I don't see that being a problem for you. I mean, considering how you've behaved this week, you're clearly adaptable and submissive when you have to be. Now, I know that the dress code is a bit of sticking point for most women, but really, what's a head scarf in the grand scheme of things. Not to mention that Marcus, my assistant, will be with you the whole time, so you won't actually have to worry about meeting with the higher ups at this point. Obviously they can be quite intimidating and frankly I just don't want you to be solely responsible for something that essential at this point in the process. And, before you say anything about it, I know that Becca is a concern for you. I can't make extensive promises about holidays yet as the details of your contract will have to go through legal first, but I can promise you that you'll have Christmas off, so that will certainly allow for family visitation. Oh, and I forgot to ask, is your passport current?"

Stunned. That was the only way to describe her expression. Maybe overwhelmed. Acutally, verging on infuriated was more like it.

"What the hell are you yammering on about?!" She shouted at him.

"What?" He looked genuinely confused. "The job. In Algeria. With my company. You said…"

Without preamble she cut him off.

"Are you kidding me? Why in God's name would I ever work for you?!"

He looked bewildered.

"Because we share the same values and…"

"Whoa buddy. Let me stop you right there. The only thing we share is a hatred of yams, and that is certainly not something to build a partnership on. And really, I can't believe you of all people have the nerve to bring up values. VALUES! As if you actually care about anything other than money and your own goddamn self." Her anger was really building now, and there was no quelling the fire behind her words. "How could you possibly think I'd want to work for you? You represent everything I want to spend the rest of my life fighting against!"

Now it was his turn to step in unprompted. In the minute and a half it had taken her to spout those words of vitriol his expression had transformed from eagerness to confusion and was quickly morphing into outrage, which unfortunately, he was failing miserably to conceal.

"I apologize Ms. Dawson. I seem to have misunderstood our earlier dialogue."

With that remark Darcy turned to exit the room only to be stopped by a cut glass tumbler hurtling into the doorframe.

"Where the hell are you going?! You opened up this little Pandora's box and I am NOT about to let you leave without saying my piece since there's no chance we'll be seeing one another again. Ever."

Startled and cross with his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched, Darcy gestured for her to continue and simply said, "Proceed."

"That is so like you!" Sam huffed derisively. "Freaking infuriating, haughty SOB. And after everything you've done? To Dave and my sister? Huh?! God, I can't rectify the fact that you're still breathing. But that's how it goes, right? Big, bad billionaire gets to treat everyone like crap, turning up his nose at the little people, and no one things anything of it, but then one day someone challenges that perfect aristocratic, patriarchal POV and you practically guillotine them."

"Pardon?" He snuck in as she took a breath.

"PARDON?!"

She threw another glass. This time at the fireplace since he'd moved away from the door and in her general direction. In fact, through all her shouting and seeing red, she hadn't noticed how close their proximity really was.

"I'm talking about Dave and my sister!" I'm talking about ruining the reputation and opportunities of a young man who was supposed to be like family to you. And for what? For squandering money on yachts and cigars and Rolexes and Bentley and weekend trips to Europe when you have could have been saving lives. I'm talking about separating two people who truly cared about one another because you've got an ego the size of Texas and can't fathom being associated with anyone who doesn't belong to the 1%. How could I ever work with, God, even know someone who'd so quickly belittle the aspirations and affections of the people I love?"

"I see. Well as I said before, I apologize for misinterpreting our earlier conversations. I'll no longer offend you with my presence. Good evening."

Though she might have been wrong, Sam definitely thought she detected an undertone of snark in that last remark. But, she didn't have an opportunity to call him on it because with that simple statement and nod of his head, Darcy left and she could only stare after him, exhausted, seriously peeved, and in desperate need of a drink. Too bad she'd already shattered the stemware. C'est la vie.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thanks so much to those of you who have already read my story and left comments! I can't believe how responsive this community is, and it's much appreciated. That being said, a few things I wanted to clarify. First, yes, I renamed some of the characters including the title character Lizzie Bennet. Normally, I would super duper protest an author doing this because I tend to be a P&P purist, but, I was in the mood to try something a little more creative and a little more inspired by the novel instead of a direct reflection of the story itself. So, if you are also in the mood to try something a little different, then welcome to my journey. :o) Also, I know that Sam is kind of a B word in the prologue. I actually did that on purpose, so again, you'll just have to trust my creative process a bit. And, if it's not to your liking, then I am totally not offended, so don't worry about that. 2 more comments on organization, then I'm done, lol. 1 - the story starts off in the middle (prologue) with my take on the proposal scene, then moves to the beg. of P&P and goes chronologically from there. 2 - there will be some POV shifts throughout the story and I'll try to make it clear whose perspective you're getting, though I'm going to see if I can get away without telling you exactly who's talking (i.e. Sam POV). Let's see if you guys can follow the clues on your own. Happy reading! And, as always, feedback is much appreciated. :o)**

* * *

As he sat amongst the English Department faculty, Tom Dawson reflected on the true blessings that his life had wrought. It wasn't often that he took an optimistic stance—that went expressly against his inherently cynical and sarcastic nature—but today of all days deserved a view through rose colored glasses because today his 2nd child, his favorite, was graduating from college.

Tom had been a reluctant parent, much more at home with books and Bach than babies and burp cloths. But, even at a young age, Sam had shown a spark, a cleverness and a true appreciation for the ridiculousness of everyday life, that brought out the best in Tom. And thank God he wasn't seated next to his wife right now and was instead ensconced comfortably amongst the faculty of Hertford College so he could actually enjoy the pleasantness of this moment.

* * *

"Samantha Elizabeth Dawson"

Hearing her name belted over the loud speakers in the auditorium, Sam took a deep breath and stepped across the stage. She smiled to her professors, shook hands with the Dean of Students—firmly of course—and walked as steadily as she could in 4" heels down the ramp, her diploma held tightly to her breast. "Finally," she thought, "a touch of recognition for the 4 years spent without sleep, living on ramen noodles, and soaking in _The New York Times_ like it was her lifeblood." But, at the same time, while she smiled in front of the university seal proudly displaying her achievements for the photographers, she felt a strange sense of emptiness and foreboding. For 4 years of high school she'd been Sam Dawson, editor of The Hertfordshire Herald, captain of the debate team, and all around smarty pants. Then 4 years of college saw her as Dr. Dawson's clever little offspring, fro-yo connoisseur, and fierce investigative journalist (Seriously, would anyone else have discovered the testosterone doping on the women's lacrosse team if she hadn't wandered into the ladies' locker room at an ungodly hour?). Now, she was just one among many unemployed college grads with no prospects returning home to mom and dad's for the summer and praying that the HR gods would smile upon them with offerings of health care packages, 401Ks, and noble causes to boot.

"Oh my God Samantha, is that lipstick on your teeth?"

Enter, Elaine Dawson. She was Sam's mother, had been for 22 years—obviously—and for that alone Sam loved her, but honestly, they functioned better when they weren't sharing the same oxygen. Noting her mother's desperate, and unsurprisingly loud pleas to "lick your teeth sweetie," Sam closed her mouth, smiled—as naturally as she could given the mortification—and moved swiftly to follow her fellow graduates back to their seats. As the provost read off another round of names—Gethsemane Elise Bertuzzi, harsh mom and dad, yikes!—Sam recognized that she'd have to embrace her current situation come what may or perish. Little did she know what was really coming her way.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Nope, your eyes are NOT deceiving you, this is entitled Chapter 3! And, there's currently no Chapter 2. I'm a bit stuck on how to transition into the "Meryton Assembly," but I didn't want to leave any eager readers waiting, so I'm going ahead and posting the two chapters that I have. I will keep working on the preceding chapter and post it as soon as I can. :o) In the meantime, happy reading!**

* * *

Petit fours, curried mangos encased in sugar sculptures, rich patés, shrimp and avocado ceviche served in endive—"Remember girls, it's pronounced 'ON-DEEV'." Guess that culture lesson came in handy, Sam chortled. Could they fit more pretension on a plate? She, somewhat judgmentally, but also quite hungrily surveyed the depth and breadth of the extravagant and obviously supercilious spread that the university had concocted in honor of the Bingley Corporation and their very extravagant, and some might say, supercilious endowment for the new library and modern sculpture garden. She loved abstract art as much as the next person, but a sculpture garden? At a traditional New England women's college? That just didn't strike the picturesque vibe that overwhelmed her every time she set foot on her beloved Hertford College campus. Modern art had always seemed cold and industrial to her, completely the opposite of the warmth and comfort her environment usually radiated. But alas, what did she know? Not two weeks ago she'd been lounging in this very dining hall eating a delicious supper of Eggo waffles with peanut butter and bananas and drinking cold, unfancy coffee. How quickly transformations could occur.

Despite all her mental, and sometimes verbal grumbling about the affectation of it all, Sam was not about to let good food go to waste. She eagerly sampled all of the delicacies except the pates—she'd had a traumatizing encounter with goose liver back in the winter of 2009 that, very much like that pate itself, had started out smoothly and quickly turned brown and mushy. And, because she was distracted (ergo "horrified") by the brownish gray goop in the Waterford crystal bowl, she didn't have a chance to flee before she was cornered by a middle-aged man in a gray blazer with elbow patches and granny glasses on the tip of his nose.

"Oh, Professor Higgins. It's so good to see you again." She was really laying it on thick, but she didn't think Higgledy Piggledy would notice. "I'm sorry that I missed your lecture last term on 'The Leading Lipstick Indicator.' My dad said that everyone in the English department really raved about your economic insights."

"Oh, that's quite alright Samantha. I know that you were sufficiently occupied what with graduation, job applications, and that probing tell-all about Chancellor Clemons' wife. To think, we had a French 'prostitute' in our midst and it escaped all our notice! I know I'll certainly be paying more attention at the next faculty mixer." With that not so subtle comment, Higgledy guffawed and gave her a wink and chuck on the arm. "Say, while I've got you here, let's say we recap that lecture. There really is a compelling connection between lipstick and terrorism, you know."

And so went the next 10 minutes of her life. Thank goodness she had canapés and luscious desserts to occupy her mouth or she'd be liable to say something regrettable. And really, under any other circumstances, Sam would have been riveted to hear about the links between lipstick sales in the US and the 9/11 attacks, but when the words spouted from his lips, all she heard was: "Higgledy Piggledy, My black hen, She lays eggs For gentlemen; Sometimes nine, And sometimes ten, Higgledy Piggledy, My black hen!" Really, it wasn't her fault. She'd known the man since infancy. The hallmark of growing up with a college professor as a parent—lots of bizarre "uncles and aunts". Finally, through the haze of nursery rhymes and L'Oreal Infallible Ravishing Red, Sam spotted Lotti headed in her direction.

"Oh Samantha, there you are." Lotti smiled genuinely and embraced her friend European style. As she enacted the cheek to cheek brush, Sam whispered in her ear: "Thank God! I almost VanGoghed myself there."

Out loud she said, "Hi! Professor Higgins, I'd like you to meet my dear friend Charlotte Lucas." The two shook hands cordially and Charlotte replied in kind.

"It's so good to finally meet you Professor Higgins. Samantha told me so many wonderful things about the course she took with you last fall and I know you've been featured in several tales of the Dawson girls' childhood." Apparently this was exactly the right thing to say because Higgledy Piggledy—she really couldn't help it!—had finally stopped talking about Leonard Lauder and consumer indulgence.

"Likewise young lady. Since you're such a friend of Samantha's, I'm surprised we haven't met more frequently."

"I am as well, but Samantha is a few years younger than me and I went away to Boston for both undergrad and law school."

"Haha, Beantown. Yes, I know it well. There's a truly divine coffee cart on Harvard Square. Do you know it?" Sam could see this spiraling out of control again and opted to curtail the whole scheme by giving Lotti the sideways nod and fake cough combo.

"Yes, it's quite lovely. And, I've thoroughly enjoyed my time in Boston. While I'd love to stay and chat, unfortunately I have to steal Samantha away. Her father found us a table and I don't want him to think we've gone amiss." And so, with the poise of a Disney princess, Lotti had guaranteed them safe passage away from Professor Higgins (that took real effort!) and towards better company and conversation.

* * *

The girls moseyed arm in arm around the guests crowding the elaborately decorated mahogany room. Their bond was one built on years and years of make-believe, slumber parties, summer bike rides, apple picking, trips to the library, storytelling, and, eventually, boy gazing. Although Lotti was indeed 25, a full three years older than Sam's 22, they'd always been kindred spirits, and neighbors, so the age difference had been null and void.

"You really are the best Lotti. Thank heaven you came home for this little shindig or I'd be left to fend for myself. The whole town's turned up, granted half of the citizenry teaches here, so it was sort of mandatory," she chuckled quietly, "but I haven't seen head nor tail of Becca since we got here."

"Well, we both knew she'd be quite popular." Lotti smiled pleasantly and let her friend continue.

"I know. Whether she wanted to be or not, right?! Mom grabbed her arm the minute we stepped inside and sprinted off like a running back towards that pool of Armani over there. They haven't emerged since."

"Your sister is frighteningly attractive. I'm not remotely surprised that the gentlemen find her entertaining and appealing. Add to that that your mother would die to see her married by 25, and it seems this scenario is really highly predictable."

"True. Well, since Becca's 24 right now, the clock is clearly a-ticking. Hmpf. God, that's putting it mildly, isn't it? Mom would forgo mani-pedis for a year just to see Becca married, but to see her married to one of those Hugo Boss ads over there…she'd burn her Manolo Blahniks…all of them!" As she spoke, Sam's face became more and more expressive, her eyes brightening and her hands gesturing wildly. "It's like feminism never even happened! Half the time living in that household is like traveling back to 1813: mom squawking about boyfriends and husbands and the joys of traditional womanhood, dad puttering around his study into the wee hours of the morning. The only exception is Catie and Lydia's perpetual campaign of sluttiness—'Who can wear more eye makeup and less clothing? Find out on next week's episode of Teen Whore: Massachusetts!' At least I've got Meredith to mentor. She's completely backward, but she might be salvageable."

Lotti laughed good-naturedly at her friend. Sam had always had a plethora of personality, which is why their friendship had been so successful. Lotti's calm, practical demeanor was the perfect balance to Sam's exuberant, active disposition. In fact, in Sam's mind the two young women really could not be separated; they were simply extensions of one another: Elinor and Marianne molded into one being.

"Lotti, you think I'm kidding, but I couldn't be more serious. Sometimes I think my parents were part of some elaborate baby switching scheme when I was born. I mean, something about this family portrait is obviously distorted. Practically surrealist when you think about it." Only the glimmer in Sam's eyes relayed the irony she'd intended in that statement. The rest of her face and tone bore the serious, stoic quality of British wit well delivered.

"Well, you clearly are an alien lifeform. I've known that for years, but I didn't want to say anything just in case that sent you into 'annihilate humanity' mode." Lotti smirked at Sam who couldn't help but grin in return.

"Hey, you may not be far off there. We just better hope my trigger phrase isn't something stuffy like, 'Do you prefer neoclassical or post-modernist art?' because with this crowd I can almost guarantee a massacre." At that the girls' conversation dissolved into youthful giggles and other more colorful subjects.

* * *

**Note: **Leading Lipstick Indicator is actually a legit economic theory, lol. Check it out here: . /zportal/cs/ContentServer?pagename=GroupSite/GSArticle/GSArticlePrintable&cid=1267999269471. Also, so is the nursery rhyme Higgledy Piggledy: . .****


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Hooray for Mr. Darcy's first impressions! Hopefully you all feel that I've done justice to their first meeting and the cleverness of Lizzy combined with the awkward haughtiness of Darcy. Excited to hear everyone's thoughts after these two chapters, so read and review please! Thanks in advance!**

**Oh, and since I've forgotten to include this memo thus far: I don't technically own any of Jane Austen's characters or her plot lines, but luckily, since all of JA's works are now part of the public domain, I'm technically not breaking copyright laws anyway. :o)**

* * *

Mid-chortle, Sam was jostled, well accosted really, by a tanned male hand decorated with a Bulgari wristwatch and, thankfully, attached to a gorgeous head full of silky, dark curls. "Whoa there buddy! I usually like to learn a guy's name before I let him grab me there." Sam smirked and exaggeratedly winked at the very attractive, and although likely unintentionally, very inappropriate male specimen standing before her. Upon closer inspection, which she certainly took advantage of given their intimate proximity—it was pretty crowded at this gala—the man had the chiseled features and well groomed body to match his enticing coif and eager appendages.

Clearly confused by her suggestive, playful dialogue, the 'fingers crossed' hopefully charming fellow looked down and realizing that his left hand had most certainly been caught in an accidental boob graze stuttered an inaudible apology and stared at Sam wide-eyed. Trying to alleviate his obvious embarrassment, Sam patted his arm—the left hand had removed itself from her chest but remained in the vicinity, after all, it was literally like being in can of sardines here!—laughed, put out her right hand, and said, "It's okay. No harm, no foul. I'm Sam Dawson, by the way, and this is Lotti Lucas."

He shook her outstretched hand somewhat limply, which definitely surprised her, and returned to looking searchingly about the room. "And you are?" Sam prompted when the mysterious, yet handsome groper remained silent.

"Oh, I apologize. I'm William Darcy."

"And what escape plan were you attempting to execute when you encountered our brilliant chiffon roadblock Mr. Darcy?"

He chuckled briefly and looked her full in the face for the first time, replying, "I'd been hoping to escape a low brow fortune hunting 'Real Housewife' who'd cornered me and my mate by that gaudy champagne fountain."

Following his gaze, Sam glanced in the direction he'd just indicated with a nod of the head and was hoping, well praying really, that her suspicions would be disproved. But alas, they'd been confirmed instead. For there, clothed in bright purple sparkles and clutching Becca and an attractive young man in her Stalin-like grip, was Elaine Dawson.

"Oh, so you've met my mother then," Sam said with a small laugh, hoping to cover up the mortification she really felt. Wishing rather than discerning that this meet cute was to be a charming anecdote she and William Darcy could regale their friends with later on, Sam watched his previously handsome features change from a look of surprise to one of condescension and mild disgust.

"Oh, I didn't realize." While his words could have been perceived as concerned, his tone definitely spoke more to bile rising into one's throat. "Well, I really must be off," he said tersely and without waiting for her reply, strode away towards the exit.


End file.
